In the Event of My Death (8 page)

Stop it! Laurel told herself sternly. Mary didn’t say anything about papers and even if Faith had kept a diary, she hadn’t necessarily mentioned the club in it. In fact, Laurel seriously doubted if Faith
did
keep a diary. She probably would have been too afraid of her father finding it and discovering her secrets.

But what about the way Mary was looking at her? Had it really been an odd look, or was her own guilt causing her to misinterpret everything? She had to admit it was guilt that had caused her to hire Mary. She’d seemed almost desperate when she came into the store and told Laurel she’d lost her job as a waitress in a local restaurant and couldn’t find anything else. She had no experience with the floral business, but Laurel had hired her on the spot, thinking that in some small way she was making things up to Faith by helping her little sister. It was only later Laurel discovered Mary’s great talent for floral design.

Laurel tried to shake off her uneasiness. Mary had probably meant nothing by her comments. Still, it would be interesting to catch her reaction when Laurel showed her the funeral wreath later in the day.

She left the kitchen and went out to wait on a woman torn between a multicolored silk flower arrangement and one done entirely in shades of pink. She compared, studied, and dithered until Laurel thought she would scream. At last she wandered out the door, saying she’d have to give it more thought. “I love decisive people,” Laurel muttered as the door shut behind the woman. Twenty minutes wasted.

Half an hour later she was on the phone with the funeral home to which Angie would be taken. The New York police had released the body. It would arrive at the undertaker’s Saturday, the visitation would be Sunday evening, and the funeral Monday morning. Details would be appearing in the newspapers later in the day, and Laurel was already swamped with orders, both from local people and through the wire services. She needed to make sure the funeral home would be open Sunday afternoon so last-minute deliveries could be made before the visitation at seven o’clock.

Just before she hung up the phone, a man walked into the store. She barely took notice of him as he sauntered around, looking as if he weren’t sure what he wanted. Laurel’s father had taught her not to pounce on customers as soon as they entered. “Give them a little time to look, honey. Even if they came to place an order, they might see something else they like.”

As he studied the flower arrangements and wreaths, Laurel stole quick peeks at him. He was tall and had thick, sandy hair with a bit of wave. His features were clean cut with high cheekbones. She got the impression of an introverted, intense personality, maybe because he looked at every item as if he were memorizing it, but he’d not smiled or even glanced at her. She was just about to ask if she could help him with something when he finally approached the counter.

She smiled. He didn’t. His eyes were a smoky blue and had a look of weariness about them, as if he’d carried a deep sadness for a long time. He wore a well-cut gray cashmere coat and kept his hands in his pockets. “I’d like to order an arrangement for the Ricci funeral,” he said, his voice deep but soft.

“I’ve just learned that visitation will be Sunday night from seven until nine,” Laurel said. “The information hasn’t been in the newspaper yet.” He didn’t say, “Is that right?” or “Thanks for letting me know.” He just gazed at her patiently. “What size arrangement do you want?” Laurel asked, realizing he looked familiar but she couldn’t place him.

“I’d like two dozen white roses.”

Laurel nodded, writing on her order pad. People usually mentioned a dollar amount they wanted to spend on a mixed basket of flowers. They rarely asked for specific flowers, especially when the arrangement would cost as much as two dozen roses. “And what name shall I put on the card?” she asked.

“Neil Kamrath.”

Laurel looked up. Of course! She hadn’t recognized him immediately because he was taller, his hair longer, and his face much more angular than it had been in high school. She’d even seen him on a talk show a couple of years ago, but he still looked different. Older and slightly haggard.

“Neil! You probably don’t remember me from high school. I’m—”

“Laurel Damron.” He finally smiled, although the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “How could I forget? You were a good friend of Faith’s. So was Angie.”

“Yes.” She felt color creep into her cheeks at the mention of Faith’s name. “Denise Price told me you were in town. Her husband is your father’s doctor. I’m sorry he’s so ill.”

“He hasn’t been well for a long time. I think he’s relieved his suffering is finally ending.”

Laurel knew most people would say something along the line of “The Lord is watching over him,” but she couldn’t. She had a sense the words would sound as hollow to Neil as they would to her.

Neil was watching her intently with those penetrating blue eyes, obviously not feeling the need to make small talk. She totaled his bill, he handed her a credit card, then signed. “Will you be coming to Denise and Wayne’s party tomorrow night?” she asked.

“No.” He paused. “Well, I’m not sure. I might stop by for a few minutes. Dr. Price has been especially good to Dad and friendly to me. I wouldn’t want to insult him.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be insulted if you didn’t come, but he’d be happy if you did.”

At that moment Mary came out of the workroom. She stopped in her tracks, gave Neil a searing look, then turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Neil asked.

“Uh, I don’t know. Probably nothing,” Laurel floundered. He fixed her with those eyes that seemed to draw out the truth. “That’s Mary Howard, Faith’s little sister.”

“Oh,” he said simply. “I haven’t seen her since she was a kid.”

Laurel handed him his receipt, feeling embarrassed by Mary’s behavior and unnerved by his unflappable manner. “I certainly hope we see you at the party,” she said a trifle shrilly.

“Well, maybe.” The bell on the door jingled and Kurt strode in, tall and formidable in his uniform. Neil didn’t look at him. “Are you going to the party?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Then I might see you there.” He finally glanced at Kurt, who stared at him balefully. Why did you have to come in right now? Laurel thought impatiently. I might have been able to talk to him a bit longer, get some feel for his personality. Neil looked back at Laurel, unsmiling. “Good-bye, Laurel. It was nice seeing you again.”

Kurt’s gaze never left Neil’s back as he left the store. As soon as the door closed behind him, Laurel snapped, “Why were you looking at him that way? It was rude.”

“That was Kamrath, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was Neil Kamrath.”

“What’s
he
doing here?”

“Asking me to elope with him.”

Kurt’s head swiveled toward her. “
What—
”

“He was ordering flowers, for heaven’s sake. Why do you think he was here?”

“Flowers for who?”

“For whom.” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “It’s ‘for whom.’ And the flowers were for Angie’s funeral. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“I don’t like that guy. Never did.”

“I wasn’t aware you really knew him.”

“I knew all I cared to. He was always strange. I don’t know how you can be nice to him. He seduced poor little Faith then deserted her. Now he writes those sick books. He’s a creep.”

Neil had nothing to do with Faith’s death, Laurel wanted to shout. But of course she couldn’t. No, not without tarnishing your own precious image, the savage voice of her conscience reminded her. “Kurt, we don’t know that he refused to marry Faith,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm. “I was her closest friend and even I didn’t know she was pregnant. Besides, look how Chuck has treated Crystal and you’re still friends with him.”

“That’s different. Chuck’s always been my best friend just like Faith was yours and he’s not crazy like Kamrath.”

“Kurt, just because Neil writes horror novels doesn’t mean he’s crazy. Do you think Stephen King is crazy?”

“Probably.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “You and Crystal ought to discuss books sometime.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” Laurel sighed. “Why did you come by?”

“To bring you this.” He held out a canister of Mace. “Don’t go anywhere without it.”

Laurel relaxed a bit. “Thank you, Kurt. This was very thoughtful of you.”

“Any more trouble last night?”

“None, except that I was nervous and didn’t get much sleep.”

“I offered to stay.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to impose.”

“Honey, spending the night with you is hardly an imposition,” Kurt said in his booming voice.

Laurel heard stifled giggles from the workroom. Penny and Norma. “Kurt, lower your voice!” she hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all. “I’ve got to go.”

“Before you do, I didn’t remind you that Denise and Wayne’s party is tomorrow night. We’re expected.”

Kurt made a face. “I’m not exactly the party type. I was looking forward to a quiet dinner with you.”

“We wouldn’t have to stay long if you don’t want to, but Denise is a good friend…”

“Okay. I’ll work on my party manners and get out the tuxedo.”

Laurel grinned. “You don’t own a tuxedo and it’s not a formal party. Slacks and a sport coat will do fine.”

“You got it.” The phone rang. “I’ll let you get back to work.” He winked. “Don’t lose your cool and blind any customers with that Mace.”

“Not unless someone annoys me.”

After she hung up the phone, she picked up the canister of Mace. The directions said to make sure the nozzle was pointed away from you before you sprayed the Mace
directly
in the eyes of the assailant. “Directly in the eyes,” Laurel murmured. “I only hope I never get that close.”

4

Laurel had lost so much sleep lately the afternoon seemed interminable. In spite of three cups of strong coffee, she couldn’t stop yawning.

Around three-thirty Penny and Mary were outside loading floral arrangments into the delivery van. The two elderly, blue-haired Lewis sisters who lived together diligently toured the store, arguing over which wreath they wanted for their front door—white pine or cedar. You’d think they were investing in a car, Laurel thought, amused. A young woman wandered around with a little boy of three who pointed to every item on display and announced, “I want that!”

Suddenly the front door flew open with such force it slammed against the outside wall. Everyone jumped and Laurel looked up to see an old man, thin and terribly wrinkled, stalk into the store. He wore an ancient suit sprinkled with food stains and no coat. His hair, thick and white, stood on end and his blue eyes blazed.

“Hark!” he shouted. “Listen to me for I speak for the Lord our God!”

Oh, Lord, no, Laurel thought in horror. Zeke Howard.

Laurel rushed from behind the counter. “Mr. Howard—”

“
Reverend
Howard!”

“Reverend Howard, are you here to see Mary?” she asked, touching his arm.

He slapped away her hand. “Don’t
touch
me!”

“I’m sorry.” Her hand stung. What should she do? “Mary is outside right now but if you’ll come and have a seat in the back, I’ll get her.”

“I don’t want Mary! You.
You
are the one I came to see.”

The three women customers stood frozen, gaping at him. The little boy had taken refuge behind his mother.

Laurel tried to sound calm and pleasant. “What do you want to see me about, Reverend Howard?”

Zeke pulled himself up straight and glared around the room. Then he drew a deep breath and began quoting in a thunderous voice:

“‘But it shall come to pass, if you do not obey the voice of the Lord your God, to observe carefully all His commandments and His statutes which I command you today, that all these curses will come upon you and overtake you…Your carcasses shall be food for all the birds of the air and beasts of the earth and no one shall frighten
them
away…’”

If Laurel could get him to move, the customers could escape. He seemed to know this, though, and stood like a boulder, blocking the door as he rambled on:

“‘But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night, in which the heavens will pass away with a great noise, and the elements will melt with fervent heat; both the earth and the works that are in it will be burned up…’”

By now the child was crying. The Lewis sisters clutched each other, trembling. Laurel didn’t dare leave Zeke alone to fetch Mary. Who knew what he might do. Helplessly she stared at him as he drew another long breath and started again, this time aiming his words at her:

“And you, Laurel Damron!” His eyes narrowed and he pointed an incredibly long, large-jointed finger at her. “‘Your life shall hang in doubt before you; you shall fear day and night, and have no assurance of life…’”

“Papa!” Mary rushed into the showroom, her expression appalled. “Why are you here? How did you
get
here?”

He looked at her disdainfully. In spite of the web of wrinkles and sprinkling of dark age spots on his face, his eyes were as clear and azure blue as Faith’s had been. The difference was the febrile, insane glow behind them. Laurel had never seen such frightening eyes in her life. “I’m here to spread the word of God. And I
drove
.”

Mary went to him. “Papa, you aren’t supposed to drive. I have to get you home.”

“I am not going home!” he shouted. “Oh, I know
you
. You give me drugs to keep me from doing God’s work. You’re not like Faith. You with your sneaking around at night and your lies, just like your whoring mother, Genevra. Faith was taken too soon, against God’s will, but she is with me every day. She tells me what is true and she gives me directions. She keeps me safe from you and all the others who meant her and me harm!”

Mary clutched at his arm. “Papa, please, you’re not well. Let me take you home.”

Zeke slowly placed his strong, sinewy hands on Mary’s shoulders and shoved her into a set of glass shelves. They crashed deafeningly against the wall. Mary sank to the floor and the broken shelves fell on top of her motionless body.